The Summoning
by Monsieur Linoge
Summary: A fanfiction based upon the universe created at www.tdzk.com


Disclaimer: This story is written within the confines of the fictional TDZK universe, defined by the game www.tdzk.com. This story is not expressly sanctioned by the administrators of that game, but neither is it censored by the same. It is merely written using the framework provided by the game. Further information can be found at www.tdzk.com/help/.   
  
Accessing Federal Navy Secure Information Network. Please stand by.   
  
.   
  
.   
  
.   
  
Negotiating encryption . . . . .   
  
Encryption matched . . . . .   
  
Connection achieved.   
  
Access name: Linoge   
  
Access code: ***************   
  
Access biometric signature: . . . . . . Confirmed   
  
Access Granted.   
  
.   
  
.   
  
You have three new mess . . . Please stand by.   
  
INCOMING NAVY WIDE EMERGENCY BROADCAST   
  
Do you wish to accept (y/n)? Y   
  
/PRIORITY ONE MESSAGE//   
  
/DATE/4432.10.26.13.40//   
  
/FROM/FLEETSECINTEL GODSFORGE//   
  
/TO//   
  
/ALL FLEET COMMANDS//   
  
/ALL STATION COMMANDS//   
  
/ALL SUPPLY COMMANDS//   
  
/ALL TASKFORCE COMMANDS//   
  
/ALL EXPEDITIONARY UNIT COMMANDS//   
  
/CLAS SENSITIVE//   
  
/SUBJ/INTEL REPORT FROM 26000//   
  
1/ The following data is sensitive, classified, and should not be disseminated to any civilian entities, regardless of affiliation.   
  
2/ The following image was recovered from the black-box recorder mechanism aboard observation drone 26000.4.5.98. The image was captured shortly before the drone's destruction. Immediately following the destruction of the drone, the BBRM auto-recalled to God's Forge, where it was recovered and examined. The following image is the only image that was recovered that is relevant to this emergency broadcast. All other visual data was corrupted due to the destruction of the drone. The drone was destroyed two seconds after capturing the image. Image follows:   
  
(Image can be found at http://linoge.net/TDZK/Scarab2.jpg .)  
  
3/ The ship captured in the image is of unknown construction and design. No ship, species, or subclass matches the ship's design. After careful examination of the data, the following computer-generated image was constructed:   
  
(Image can be found at http://linoge.net/TDZK/Scarab2.jpg .)  
  
4/ Due to this recent development, all civilian ships within system 26 are to be evacuated immediately. All ports and stations are to be completely evacuated and all personnel transfered to system 15 for reassignment. All sectors within system 26 are to be completely mined with full loads of combat, mine, emp, and scout drones. No Naval vessel will be allowed into system 26 without a full escort to be comprised of at least two Seraphim-class destroyers. No civilian ships are to be allowed access to system 26.   
  
5/ This blockade is to remain in effect until further notice. We do not yet know the affiliation of this unknown vessel, and it must be assumed to be hostile until further evidence has been brought forward. The Alpha and Bravo task forces are assigned to be patrol groups within system 26, and Charlie task force is assigned to maintain the blockade of system 26. All other task forces proceed on your already-assigned orders.   
  
6/ Task forces assigned to system 26 will receive their pertinent orders in a separate communication.   
  
//END TRANSMISSION//   
  
Command: Exit   
  
LOGOFF.....  
  
FNDS: 4432.10.26.13.45   
  
Linoge sighed, leaned back in his chair, and grimaced. He had accessed the Federal Navy Secure Information Network a few moments before to check his mail, and see if there was any word from home concerning his family. However, even before he was able to access his personal mail account, a Navy-wide emergency broadcast snapped into the system (which can be found here).   
  
Now… well… now, he had no idea what was going on. His ship, the Bellapheron, a Seraphim-class destroyer, had just pulled into God's Forge a scant week ago for much-needed shore leave, even though the facilities for such activities at this particular Navy station were not exceptional. Linoge would have preferred directing his ship to one of the Nexus ports – much greater variety for his crew – but a captain of a ship is not his own captain, and must always obey the orders of those officers placed above him. God's Forge, itself, is not a particularly bad station, in comparison to the rest of the Navy's stations scattered across this particular system, and partially across the galaxy. However, all Navy-associated stations are somewhat… bland and controlled compared to some of the stations that can be found elsewhere in the galaxy. However, what is to be expected from such a straight-laced, by-the-books organization? At least at this particular station, the number of fights his crew will be involved in will be decreased considerably…   
  
Regardless, the communication he had just received from Fleet Security and Intelligence was about to cancel that shore leave Linoge was hoping his troops would enjoy. They had been out in the deep sectors of space for over two months now, and they deserved some rest and relaxation time. However, this recent message was about to completely change that. From prior experience with the Navy's communication grid, Linoge knew that his "pertinent orders" from Fleet Command would be arriving within the next hour, even though he was currently directly docked to God's Forge, and his crew must be recovered from God's Forge and returned to the ship. Adjusting his attention back to the computer terminal within his small cabin, Linoge typed in a series of commands that allowed him to access the ship's audio communication network, upon which he paged the ship's Master Chief Petty Officer. A few moments later, the computer terminal ringed with a noise that has lasted throughout the ages, and the MCPO's voice came out of the terminal's speakers.   
  
After a few moments of deliberation, the MCPO signed off his end, and left to gather up a complement of the ship's MPs to go corral the on-station crew. For the few crewmembers who actually remained onboard ship during the shore leave, Linoge activated the 1MC once again, and proceeded to inform them of the situation.   
  
"This is the Captain speaking. As you all may know by now, an unknown, possibly hostile ship has been spotted in sector 26000. As we are the lead ship in task force Bravo, very shortly we will be receiving our orders to proceed to system 26 and perform patrols to search for this unknown vessel. I would like this ship to be fully functional and spaceworthy within two standard hours, and undocked within three. Your crewmates will be returning within the next hour, so fill them in and get moving. Make it happen, people."   
  
Thankfully, this docking period was only for the crew to take shore leave, not for any refits or upgrades, and any necessary reloads had already taken place earlier that week, so Linoge's challenge to the crew would be relatively easy to meet. He had never really had any problems with the crew, and they had always met his higher-than-normal expectations, and he had no doubt that they would perform excellently again. One is not assigned to a Seraphim-class destroyer based on good looks.   
  
Sighing once more and pushing off from his chair, Linoge steadied himself against the "ceiling" of his cabin with one of his back-arms. Even though this ship was not designed with the Wraith species in mind, he could get around as fast, if not faster, than the Derivians onboard. Indeed, Linoge was one of the few Wraiths within the Federation Navy, and one of the very few with command of a lead ship. It had proven a long, steep climb for the modern Wraiths to overcome the centuries of distrust between them and the other races, but they were slowly being admitted back into the fold of "accepted" races, even to the point where a Wraith such as Linoge could be in command of one of the largest Federation Navy starships. However, it was the moment at hand with which Linoge was concerned, not the years of work that were necessary for him to achieve this honor. With that thought in mind, he straightened his form-fitting shipsuit, adjusted the small silver square that identified him as the captain, and pushed the little button that opened his cabin's hatch. With a faint hiss, the doorway slid back, revealing one of the standard corridors that one can see on just about every Federation Navy warship – a drab gray, four-sided shaft with doors and handholds arranged eclectically on every side, as is made possible by a ship that spends most of its time without gravity. In the null-G of the ship at rest, Linoge pushed off into the corridor, immediately grabbing one of the available handholds and shifting his motion such that it would take him "down" the shaft towards the bridge.   
  
There were turbolifts throughout the ship, primarily for use while the ship's drives were online, but Linoge preferred making his way through his vessel by hand – it gave him a better feel of the goings-on of the massive machine around him, as well as a better feel for the organic cogs that make the machine as powerful and as efficient as it is. For emergencies, Linoge would be more than willing to use a turbolift to get from point A to point B, but in these circumstances, with no real rush pushing him, he glides along the shaft, occasionally reaching out and giving himself another pull to maintain his speed. The crew used to be remarkably disconcerted by his randomly showing up at their stations to inspect them – due to his Wraith heritage and training, he is as silent as death, even while moving, and is easily overlooked visually as just a rogue shadow. Linoge occasionally heard reports from his department heads about their crewmen complaining about a "daemon" roaming through the corridors of the Bellapheron, but Linoge merely smiled and proceeded to swap out his shipsuit collection for colors that were slightly more noticeable than his normal, drab gray, brown, and dark blue. Regardless, the bridge is only a scant 50 meters from his living cabin, and he arrives there in short order, only encountering a few of the onboard crewmembers in between.   
  
Once at the bridge, and after acknowledging the "Captain on deck," announcement as he floated in, Linoge studied the repeater stations arranged throughout the room. Once he had satisfied himself that all systems were, indeed, in order and that the ship was being brought up to flight status, he settled into the CO's chair on the bridge, chin in hand, staring out at the expanse of God's Forge before him, and awaited the communication he knew was coming.  
  
The crew used to be relatively uncomfortable with Linoge on the bridge, especially considering he tends to enjoy simply spending time on the bridge of one of the strongest ships in the Federation Navy. There is just something empowering about being at the helm of one of the most destructive forces in the galaxy, even if it does happen to be moored up against an object that could erase the Bellapheron without a second's thought. However, after a few weeks of Linoge idling on the bridge, the crew eventually got used to him being there, especially after he changed his wardrobe to slightly more colorful and vibrant colors – before this change, he used to be little more than a shadow in the CO's chair, and unknown, self-propelled shadows rarely put people at ease.   
  
After a few moments respectful silence from the bustle of the bridge's functions after Linoge arrival, the crew returned to their previous tasks of warming up the reactor, loosening up the drive units, and generally preparing the ship for sailing once more into the depths of space. However, the slight bustle of the two or three crewmembers on the bridge was nothing compared to the organized chaos taking place in the engine room at this moment. Linoge knew that there were at least ten crewmembers and two officers down there at the moment, checking dials, punching commands into terminals, and performing all the grunt-work necessary to ensure that the Bellapheron will be at full combat status the moment it casts off from God's Forge.   
  
Moreover, those individuals have every right to be busy as devils straight from Hell – it takes a tremendous amount of effort to get a full-blown destroyer fully functional within the time span of less than three hours. All Navy crews are capable of getting a ship from cold metal to full thrust within two hours, but that is at full crew strength, and under emergency circumstances. The Bellapheron is still slightly lacking in the crew department, and Linoge was only pushing the envelope at this moment for the drill and the thrill, and to ensure that his crew was capable of it. At least the reactor was only left on standby instead of shut down completely; otherwise, it would have been considerably more difficult. However, on top of ensuring the reactor was functioning and warming up within the proscribed limits, the engineering crew had to check out the atmospherics system from stem to stern, the entire power grid, all of the actual, solid-state mechanical systems, and so on and so on. The Engineering Officer of the Watch's job is never an easy one.   
  
Elsewhere throughout the ships, scenes of crewmen hard at work could be found – the weapons crew ensuring that all of the weapons were primed, ready, and reloaded where need be; the drone crew checking up on their small fleet of charges and all the associated hardware; the shield-techs, seemingly praying over their arcane and quasi-mystical shield generators like priests of old. All of this was simply another preparation for another jaunt out into space, like so many other preparations before so many other jaunts. However, Linoge, still sitting strapped into his chair on the bridge, still staring out at the glaring white hull of God's Forge before him, knew better.   
  
The very tone of the emergency broadcast he, and the rest of the fleet, received sounded… off. If Linoge did not know better, which, of course, he did, he might assume that the people at Security and Intelligence were almost… scared. The very thought was preposterous, considering the strength-of-arms the Navy put forth in its fleet, but the fact remained that the communication had an overbearing sense of caution, at the very least. Linoge was also reasonably sure that the SecIntel boys were holding back a few pertinent pieces of data, but, of course, there is no real way to prove this assumption, despite the fact that it is usually assumed that it is the case with any information received from SI. However, with the strength of both those subconscious assumptions backing his thoughts now, Linoge had the distinct feeling that this current deployment would not be a standard pirate-hunt.   
  
For the past few cruises the Bellapheron spent out in deep space, the deployment mostly consisted of extended periods of extreme boredom, punctuated by intense moments of absolute chaos, as is the way with all military operations. The intense chaos normally resulted with the sighting of a pirate ship or convoy, and the resulting chase and occasional battle. During these particular deployments, unlike the one Linoge knew the Bellapheron was about to be sent on, she operated alone, independent from the rest of her task force. This is not unreasonable, considering the fact that a Seraphim-class destroyer is the second-largest combat vessel the Federation Navy has ever constructed. The fact that two task forces, each with their own Seraphim and according support ships, are being assigned to this hunt in system 26 is yet another reason why this entire operation puts Linoge ill at ease. However, the thoughts of his previous cruise put him slightly more at ease.   
  
During this time, Linoge and the Bellapheron had the pleasure of hunting pirates within Sewell, a system that tends to be home to the slightly less savorable individuals of the galaxy. Generally, the "hardcore" pirates stay out of this system, simply due to its proximity to Manchari, but its proximity to Nexus, as well as the negative alignment of its station, makes it occasionally an irresistible draw to individuals who prey upon others. The Bellapheron's mission in Sewell was simple – keep the peace. If there is one thing in the mission profile of the Federation Navy that its crews will do with almost unrelenting glee, it is hunt pirates.   
  
All said, the Bellapheron destroyed eight pirate vessels, and disabled seven more for recovery by cleanup wings. For a two-month deployment period, those numbers definitely are not bad, and Linoge made more than sure to congratulate his crew at every opportunity presented, even to the point of presenting a few meritorious service medals here and there. Unfortunately, that leave he had promised them would have to be cut short for the time being. At least his crewmen had been able to spend some time with their families, most of whom actually lived on God's Forge. The universe is, of course, imperfect, and sometimes that imperfection strikes home with a vengeance. Linoge hoped that his MCPO would not have any issues in corralling the on-station crewmen – generally, they had no complaints with going back to duty, but this is remarkably short notice, and in the middle of a promised two-week leave period. However, the Chief can be a rather… persuasive… individual, and he and his team will be more than sufficient to handle any possibly rowdy crewmembers.   
  
While Linoge was sitting in his COs chair on the bridge of the Bellapheron, a red light flashed from its place upon a console above his head, accompanied by a rather insistant beeping noise. Glancing up with a grimace upon his disturbing face at the same time as the communications controller said, "Incoming broadcast from FLEETCOM, sir," Linoge knew that this priority message consisted of his orders to system 26. Glancing at the chronometer strapped to his right wrist, he realized this communiqué had been received only a scant thirty minutes after the fleet-wide broadcast concerning the system in question. This rapid creation of orders was unprecedented – generally, orders took a considerable amount of time to work their way through FLEETCOM, even sometimes taking a day to two days to work their way down to the actual ships and captains. This thirty-minute-turn-around time was highly unusual, and just another part of this entire event that set Linoge's nerves on edge.   
  
Unstrapping himself from his chair, Linoge pushed off it, rebounded off the viewport before him, and directed himself towards the communications room located behind the bridge. Detecting the approach of his biometric signature, the doorway to the secured room hissed open and allowed Linoge to glide through into the darkened chamber. Stopping and "righting" himself relative to the orientation of the room, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimmed lighting that permeated throughout the room, an action that took very little time indeed due to his genetic heritage. Once his eyes had adjusted, he opened the access panel to the holographic display unit, and punched in his command code and the necessary requests to access the incoming message from FLEETCOM. Once the ship's onboard computer had checked out and confirmed the string of alphanumeric characters, the articulated arms of the holographic display unfolded and started weaving their complex networks of lights and patterns.   
  
As Linoge floated by the display, the stern face of the FLEETCOM Command Admiral stared out at him through the pixellated storm of background interference and noise, and proceeded to give the Wraith captain his orders.   
  
The communication feed the Bellapheron was receiving from FLEETCOM was not live, so Linoge merely floated, arms clasped behind his back, and patiently listed to the enumerations of his duties as administered by the floating Derivian head before him. Even though Linoge was only a mere captain within the hierarchy of the Federation Navy, he was the sole commander in charge of task force Bravo, and all the associated ships. This generally boiled down to his Seraphim-class destroyer, one Ballista-class Destroyer, two Dominion-class carriers, two Archangel-class cruisers, and twelve Angel-class frigates – a sizeable force, to say the least. Occasionally, support vessels are attached to the task force in order to extend its operational period by supplying reloads, refuels, and repairs as necessary, but each task force tends to be self-sufficient for periods of at least a standard month. However, for this particular operation, FLEETCOM had decided to attach an Omniscience-class Deep Space Listening Platform to Linoge's task force. This revelation was not particularly disconcerting, considering the unknown qualities and capabilities of the mysterious ship, but it was another factor for which Linoge would have to account. Omniscience-class ships, while their sensors and detection grids are unparalleled throughout the galaxy, are completely unarmed, and relatively slow in comparison to actual combat vessels. Linoge hoped that FLEETCOM would grant him at least a few more frigates to provide a screen for this new, rather large asset, but the ships did not appear to be forthcoming from FLEETCOM.   
  
Regardless, Linoge's orders appeared to be relatively standard for a hunt-and-destroy mission. He and his task force, once fully assembled, were to make best speed to the jump node into system 26, whereupon they will meet up with task forces Alpha and Charlie, and proceed from there. Alpha and Bravo task forces will proceed into system 26, where they will proceed to hunt down the unusual spacecraft, and establish contact with it. Charlie task force will remain on the other side of the jump node and establish the blockade of the system, as well as defend the Mobile Command Outpost that was being established there. Additionally, FLEETCOM was assigning the 22nd Marine Expeditionary Unit to the MCO. Linoge was not particularly sure why a Marine force was necessary for a standard hunt-and-destroy, but he learned throughout the years that it is not especially wise to question orders directly from FLEETCOM. The head of the Command Admiral wrapped up his speech concerning Linoge's orders, and the computer behind the holographic head finished recording all of the data transferred on the subchannel of the communication. After the standard pleasantries one can expect from one's massively-superior officer, the head blinked into a dot of light and disappeared from the display. The arms of the holographic display folded back into the base of the unit, and the lights within the room increased their output slightly more in response.   
  
Glancing at the computer across the room to ensure that the computer had accurately recorded all of the pertinent data, Linoge unclasped his arms and pushed off the walls, headed back to the hatchway into the Bridge. Once more, the hatch hissed open at the captain's presence, and hissed close after his feet passed through the portal. Arresting his flight on the central command console arranged in the middle of the bridge, Linoge brought his feet down to the "deck" of the room, orienting himself properly against the displays he was starting to bring up on the console. Tapping his clawed fingers against the various displays, control, response locations, dials, and buttons arranged over the semi-circular console, his eyes shifted between the arrays of displays arranged over the surface. These displays ranged from tiny one-centimeter indicators, to the full-blown 70cm viewscreen that had extended from the forward-top edge of the console once Linoge arrived at it. These various and sundry displays showed Linoge the projected flight path of his task group, the various formations the ships could employ, the final arrangement of the MCO at the jump node into system 26, and a multitude of other data streams. The captain's head shifted from one display to another, checking out all of the electronic paperwork that were so necessary to ensure the clean and smooth running of a task force as large as his. This may, finally, be a paperless society, but the lack of paper is more than made up by the insane amount of electronic data that is transferred between individuals. The amount of "paperwork" before Linoge occupied his time for a period that he actually lost track of, an event that he rarely experiences. However, a page for his attention broke his focus on the digital displays, and instead turned it to the communication system based into the command console.   
  
Activating it, his MCPO's rough voice emanated from the unit's grill – "CO, Master Chief."   
  
"CO here."  
  
"Captain, we've got all the crew back onboard and getting back up to speed. I am going to head down to engineering and make sure everything is working up to speed. The XO should be coming to visit you here shortly."   
  
"Sounds good Chief. Have fun with your reactors."   
  
"Will do Captain. Signing off."   
  
The communication system squeaked for a split second as the Chief shut down his end of it, and Linoge returned his attention to the mass of displays before him. Blinking his light-sensitized eyes a few times, he shook his head once and pressed the key that would save all of the data he had arranged to memory, transmit it to the necessary individuals, and shut down the active displays. The large central one slid back into its storage slot, and the rest of the displays returned to their white noise or miscellaneous support functions. Glancing over these refreshed screens to ensure that his ship was up to speed and preparing for launch, Linoge paused and thought a moment.   
  
His Executive Officer was supposedly tracking him down at the moment… Linoge and he did not get along particularly well, simply due to their differences in command style. Linoge mostly stuck to the laid-back, faith-in-the-crew, quiet form of leadership, while Filarn, his XO, tended towards the slightly stronger, and slightly more micromanaging forms of leadership. While Linoge is, indeed, the commanding officer of the Bellapheron, Filarn can occasionally grate upon Linoge's nerves by his stringent suggestions and thoughts concerning the crew. Linoge hoped that he and Filarn had worked out their differences, and he hoped that some time off would loosen up his XO, but one would see shortly.   
  
Glancing about to ensure that his bridge crew were still keeping up with their associated tasks, Linoge headed for the hatchway out of the chamber. It would not do well to have the XO confront him in front of crew, especially if the conversation turned slightly sour, and, due to the communication/locator bracelet worn by all crewmembers, Filarn would be able to find Linoge no matter where he wandered within his ship. Gliding through the open circle of the hatchway out of the bridge, Linoge steadied himself on one of the handy grips arranged around the doorway. Deciding where he would like to head for this jaunt, as well as how he would like to get there, he set off, straight "down", towards the ventral sections of the ship. Floating through the null-G hallways, it was easy to imagine that any direction could be up, and he could just as well be flying upwards through the passageway as well as falling down it. Regardless, he had made it about halfway "down" into the ship, and had passed a few of the newly-reformed crew along his way, when he heard from a connection corridor the voice of his XO requesting an audience. Grinning slightly and arresting his forward flight on one of the handholds, he turned and waited for the man to approach, which, in his typical impetuous manner, Filarn did.   
  
Filarn, ironically enough, was a Zallun, born and bred on one of the outlying worlds of the Zallus system. For the first few weeks of Linoge's assignment to the Bellapheron, this was a considerable bone of contention between the two of them. However, the forces of working in such close quarters over such important work, as well as the all-acceptance policy of the Federation Navy eventually overcame the ingrained distrust and distaste that had been between their two races for far too long. Indeed, at this point in time, the dislike shared between the two races has devolved to the point where its continued existence was nothing more than a point of honor and "tradition", and no longer really had any logical, reasonable backing to it. Admittedly, the Wraith Assassins Guild is the largest and finest such establishment in the entirety of the galaxy, and this Guild's actions, had, unfortunately, been stereotyped throughout the entirety of the Wraith race. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the actions leading to the split of the Wraiths and the Zalluns took place so long ago as to make it ludicrous for either side to hold a grudge. At least these were Linoge's thoughts upon the matter. He did not particularly know Filarn's beliefs concerning the splitting of the two races, and did not particularly care so long as Filarn did his duties to the best of his abilities and with the least amount of friction between the two of them. It is never a good idea to allow undue, excessive amounts of ill will to exist between the CO and XO of any command – it tends to put the troops on edge, decrease overall efficiency, and generally degrade the command to the point of uselessness. However, Linoge was quite thankful that Filarn eventually overcame his personal feelings, at least to the point where the two could carry on a civilized conversation and ensure the smooth running of their ship and charges.   
  
Of course, a Zallun XO among a crew with a considerable portion of it consisting of Derivians could also be a problem in and of itself, but, as with the Zallun-Wraith debacle, the Federation Navy tends to overlook the racial differences of individuals. It took the crew a few days to accustom themselves to the XO, but this was before Linoge's assignment to the Bellapheron, and has only heard stories about that period. Those stories, however, were sufficient for Linoge to be thankful that he was not actually onboard during that period.   
  
"Captain Linoge, this current situation is absolutely unacceptable."   
  
Filarn's barkish speech broke Linoge's contemplation of the past, and the half-grin upon the Captains face threatened to blossom into a full-blown smile, something that the XO would absolutely not appreciate. Linoge kept his facial expression under control, and said, "To what situation are you referring, Commander Filarn?"  
  
"Sir, do you realize that it took over an hour for the Master Chief Petty Officer to gather up the on-station crew and get them back to the ship? A full hour! I demand to know why there was such a lag in the process… The ship could have come under attack, systems could have broken down and not been repaired…"   
  
Filarn actually sounded indignant about the situation, even though a one-hour turnaround on searching for the crew among a station of over 500,000 individuals was actually not that bad. Gesturing for the XO to stop his almost-frantic rambling, Linoge attempted to assuage his quasi-irrational fears, "Commander, according to my star plots, the Bellapheron does not have to leave God's Forge for another six hours, leaving double the time necessary to actually get the ship operational and spaceborne. The crew just was recalled from a supposedly two-week leave, one week early. Needless to say, they probably had some rather last-minute problems to take care of before they could return to the Bellapheron. We will cast off in three hours; it is not that big of a deal Commander." Linoge hated being that callous with his Commander, but occasionally the man just took things too far.   
  
"Aye, sir. I will go make the preparations for casting off." Filarn looked almost put-down, but the man really must learn to stop taking everything in the universe so seriously. In a way, Linoge almost pitied the Deck Crew, as he knew his XO was headed in their direction in order to ensure they were ready for the casting-off. Filarn would probably express some of his frustration upon them, despite what Linoge would prefer. However, since he had only been in command of the Bellapheron for three months then, he did not yet feel comfortable enough with Filarn to sit down with him and discuss his leadership style. Perhaps the time for that would be after this current mission.   
  
As Filarn headed "topside", Linoge continued "down" the access shaft towards the drone hangars. Being that the Wraith drone technology is slightly less advanced than that of the rest of the galaxy's drones, Linoge was always fascinated with the Federation's drones, even if they are just standard drones and not even the Sniv version. Drifting through the corridors, occasionally nudging himself along with a push off one of the handholds, Linoge started encountering some of the crew as they moved equipment about, flew to their duty stations, and generally prepared for launch. Each of the individuals acknowledged the Captain with a "Good afternoon, skipper,", "G'day, Captain," or some other nature of greeting. All of them were quite respectful, as was due for his position, and all of them appeared to be quite engaged in their own responsibilities and duties, as was to be expected for a ship preparing to launch.   
  
Linoge came up on the access port for the drone hangars, and punched in the appropriate combination codes to unlock the sealed doors. The doors unlocked from one another and pulled back into the wall, and Linoge floated through into the airlock of the hangar. The hangar itself was kept depressurized simply because it would take far too much air to keep the hangar bay fully pressurized and heated, not to mention it would have to be evacuated every time one wished to launch drones. As Linoge entered the airlock, the upper collar of his shipsuit activated, its organic core being motivated into action. Almost as a liquid, the upper collar of the suit extended up over Linoge's neck, face, and eventually covered his entire head. This quasi-liquid was clear and completely flexible, but also retained atmosphere and temperature with the rest of the shipsuit. The same event occurred to cover Linoge's feet and hands as the small pack on the back of his belt whirred to life to process his air such that he could continue breathing. Once he had been fully sealed within his airtight shipsuit, the Bellapheron automatically began evacuating the atmosphere of the airlock back into its storage tanks. A few seconds later, a red light flashed over the exterior door, and Linoge pressed the stud to open it.   
  
Linoge drifted through the doorway, and then pivoted around the doorframe to grab onto the rack of reaction-thruster backpacks arranged around the doorway. The door closed behind him, resecuring the structural integrity of the ship as Linoge took one of the packs off the rack and fastened it to the electromagnetic buttons arranged over his shipsuit. Affixing the control module to his left forearm, Linoge tapped a few of its buttons and jetted out into the massive room, weaving his way between the two racks of drones, each arranged in a five drone by five drone pattern. It did not take him long to track down the dronetechs working on the oddly-constructed devices. Coming up behind them, and due to the void of the room, they did not see or hear his approach, so he was free to simply float there and observe their progress. One of the minor upgrades brought onboard during this docking period was fifty new processor units for each of the computer core units in each of the scout drones the Bellapheron carries. This was the last of the processors being installed to the last of the drones, and each of the installations went without a problem. Linoge floated there for a few more moments, and then started to turn towards the access door out of the hangar. However, just as he turned to do so, it appeared that all hell broke loose.   
  
The dronetech crew consisted of three Kitarans, and they were just to the point of welding the drone's armor plating back into place, and gathering up the rest of their tools. While one of the dronetechs was reaching for the rivet gun, his hand slipped, and apparently caught the trigger of the device. In theory, the safeties built into the device would have kept it from firing, but it appears that they failed this time around – the rivet gun fired off its bolt of metal at its inordinate speed, and it promptly slammed into the plasma-arc welder the second dronetech was using. Thankfully, the casing of the arc welder was sufficiently strong that the bolt did not bore all the way into it, but the force of the impact was sufficient for the second dronetech to lose control of it. The arc welder slammed to the left, right into the third dronetech's right leg.   
  
"Great frenning Maker!" was barely out of the first dronetech's mouth before Linoge had turned to see what the source of the suddenly-bright light was. The arc welder cut off the third dronetech's leg at the mid-thigh, and the lower portion of it was now careening off into the darkness of the hold. The upper portion had been cauterized instantly by the heat of the arc welder, and the crewman's shipsuit automatically constricted around the upper portion of his thigh, retaining the atmosphere within the suit.   
  
Linoge took all this in a split second, while the second dronetech frantically shut off the arc welder with the first dronetech tossing the faulty rivet gun away. The third dronetech had drifted towards Linoge with the force of the arc welder's impact against his leg, and Linoge jetted close enough to him to grab him in a body hold, jetting straight towards the airlock immediately. Transmitting an emergency command to the airlock through the comm unit seemingly floating in his facemask, the outer door opened and sealed immediately as they passed through. Without even waiting to repressurize the airlock, the inner door opened, and there was a momentary gust of wind while the pressure equalized between the lock and the actual ship. Jamming the thrust button of controlling unit down, Linoge jetted out of the open door and into the corridors of the ship, taking the turns quite hard, but using his own body and leg to bounce and careen off the walls. Now that they were back into the ship, their suits retracted their organic seals, and Linoge could now hear the groans and moans of the Kitaran dronetech lapsing into shock. Damning the size of his ship, Linoge slammed around another corner, and timed his flight arc that he would skip just barely through the door into the medbay, which, thankfully, always stays open except during combat.   
  
Linoge careened into the somewhat-cramped medbay, breaking his headlong flight by almost breaking the control stud for his thruster pack, as well as essentially bouncing off one of the bulkheads. Finding the nearest med bed, he placed the wounded Kitaran upon it at the same time as calling off, "Medical emergency!" at the top of his lungs. The three on-duty medtechs boiled out of their small office, one of them stopping shortly to utter a "Great Maker," before bouncing to join his companions at the bedside of the wounded Kitaran.   
  
"Heavy machinery wound. He took a plasma arc welder to the leg. It appears to have cauterized instantly, the rest of his leg is still in the hold somewhere," Linoge explained as the medtechs already went to work, sticking the dronetech with various intravenous substances, hooking up scanners and different medical droids over and around his rather shortened leg.   
  
"Yes sir, we understand. If you could please step back a bit, sir, we would appreciate it," responded one of the harried medtechs, as they started actually going over the wound. Hovering around the bed, each on his own orientation, it was a rather peculiar sight to behold indeed.   
  
Linoge pushed off the floor and floated out of the way of the professionals, not yet willing to leave the medbay until he heard the prognosis for his crewman. He always hated seeing a fellow trooper go down, be it in an accident as random as this particular one, or in combat. At least this way, the man could be sent home alive instead of in a box, or not at all. Having been forced to write far too many of those thrice-damned "We regret to inform you…," letters in his career in the Federation Navy, Linoge is quite thankful that he would not have to write another one for this particular incident. A few inches higher, and the man would have almost been sliced in half. Even as it is at the moment, it was, by no means, a "good" injury… the crewman's leg probably could never be reattached, regardless of the advanced technology the Navy possessed – the burn damage to both sides of the wound would be far too great. However, thanks to that rather advanced technology, partially donated by the enigmatic Taenarians, the crewman's organic leg could be replaced by a cybernetic prosthetic one, allowing him the return of at least 75% of his mobility. Unfortunately, he would still have to be medically discharged from service – the Navy did not allow almost any cybernetic replacements or augmentations in their members due to the chance of electronic or EMP surges throughout a ship, as well as the chance of the device failing at an inopportune time. The dronetech might be able to secure a desk job through the Navy, but Linoge knew that this particular Kitaran was best at home in the deeps of space, working on his almost-beloved drones.   
  
One of the other dronetechs floated in the door of the medbay, carrying the wounded man's leg just as one of the medtechs turned and pushed off towards Linoge. Directing the dronetech to place the leg in cryogenic storage, the medtech steadied himself against the wall upon which Linoge was resting, and explained, "The arc welder basically charred two inches into his leg, sir. Of course, that was about the only thing that actually saved him, considering that the femoral artery runs through there, and he would have bled out in the matter of a few minutes. We will not be able to reattach his leg, but we can transfer him to God's Forge once we get him stabilized, and they can probably hook him up with a prosthesis. He was into shock pretty badly by the time you got here sir, though I do appreciate the… speed… with which you brought him to us. Once we get him out of that, we will ship him over to the station… should be well before we have to cast off, sir."   
  
"Very well. Do your best to make him comfortable." The medtech nodded and went back to work, while the second dronetech merely floated there, staring at his downed companion. Linoge did not know where the third one was, but he was presumably trying to figure out what went wrong in the hold. Along those same lines, Linoge pushed off the wall, swung himself around and drifted out into the corridor, raising his right wrist to his face to page the MCPO on his personal communicator, "MCPO, CO."   
  
"Aye, sir?" the man's gruff voice emanated from the communicator's speaker.   
  
"We just had a major accident in the drone hangar, chief. One dronetech down, missing half his leg. One of the rivet guns lit off, when its safety should have caught it, and the bolt threw one of the plasma arc welders wild while it was in use. I want you to figure out just what in Wraith's Purple Oceans happened, and how to fix it. Use whatever men you have to."   
  
A stunned silence followed for a moment, then one could hear the brief background noise of the MCPO barking out orders to the crewmen apparently around him, before he turned back to the communicator directly, "Aye sir, I am on it right now. How is the dronetech doing?"   
  
"They are getting him stabilized now, but he is missing his entire leg from the mid-thigh down," Linoge responded.   
  
"Mother of… I will definitely figure out just what the frell happened sir. Chief Keth, out."   
  
Linoge merely floated there in the corridor outside the medbay, the dull red glow of the cross on the bulkhead barely reflecting off his darkened skin. In the voids of space, it was rare that one actually saw the enemy one was shooting at, and with the caliber, scope, and sheer power of the weapons involved, it was quite rare the one actually saw another person die or become wounded. With vacuum all around the sailors of this particular Navy, wounds were often fatal, considering they were mostly caused by the structural integrity of the ship around them failing, and if that happens, you were pretty much out of luck already. Thankfully, the modern marvels of the shipsuits had saved more than one sailor's life, but even they had limitations. One thing is certain, however: Linoge would never forget the look of sheer shock and terror of the dronetech seeing his leg floating away from his body. He probably did not even feel the actual damage, simply due to his neurons being charred to charcoal before they could actually transmit, and then shock coming into effect soon after to dampen the sensations even farther. However, his face spoke the volumes his body could not.   
  
All sailors and officers within the Federation Navy understood the risks and dangers involved in manning spacecraft and engaging in combat with them, but one always secretly hoped that the accidents and lost battles would happen to someone else, perverse though that thought might be. Even though recruits may just barely be of legal maturity age, and still suffering from their "teenage" immortality complex, they shed that feeling quite rapidly when faced with their mortality on a daily basis. All it takes is one faulty seal, one poorly executed command, or one misfired bolt and you are suddenly chewing vacuum, or worse. Moreover, as this very event proves, accidents can occur anywhere, even sitting in dock after just returning from one's leave period.   
  
Linoge floated there a moment longer, and then pushed off on the handrails of the hallway, this time headed in a different direction than he has normally taken, into the housing section for the crew and officers onboard ship. The captain's and XO's quarters are slightly separated from the rest of the crew – Rank Hath Its Privileges, as well as the fact that most commanders prefer to be near their respective bridges. Regardless, Linoge was headed to the very core of the habitation section, and the small, simplistic room nestled into that small section of the ship. Before he returned to his office to call the appropriate people to secure a replacement for his wounded dronetech, he needed a moment to himself, or perhaps to talk to someone, if he was there.   
  
However, Linoge was not even able to get very far into the habitation section of the ship before his wrist communicator chimed once again. Raising it towards his head, he activated it, and the voice of his XO could be heard from the tiny speaker, "Commanding Officer, Executive Officer."   
  
"CO here."   
  
"Captain, the rest of the ships for Task Force Beta have arrived at God's Forge. They have all docked up at this point, and are recharging and rearming as need be. They estimate they will be fully functional within two hours," Filarn reported over the communications net.   
  
"Very well. We should be fully operational before then, so we will leave once the rest of the ships are ready, and once I take care of a small issue." Knowing that Filarn would immediately ask what the issue was, Linoge decided to go ahead and explain. "One of the dronetechs, while working in the hangar, took a plasma arc welder to the leg. He should be transferred off-ship shortly, but we are going to have to find a replacement for him. I am heading up to my quarters now to take care of it," Linoge lied slightly, but after hearing that the rest of the Task Force was almost ready to ship out, he did, indeed, start moving towards his quarters instead of his original target such that he could get the remainder of the paperwork sorted out and dealt with.   
  
A moments silence followed on the other end of the line, then Filarn spoke up once again, "Aye, sir. I will stop by the medbay to check up on the medtech, and will then proceed to the drone hangar bay to inspect just what caused this accident."   
  
Linoge had a feeling that his XO would volunteer to go check out the hangar. If nothing else, that would get him out of Linoge's hair for the time being… the XO always had an annoying tendency to stress out completely over the importance of being careful when docking and undocking. Now, however, he appears to have something upon which to focus his nervous energies, and something in which his attention to details might prove to be quite useful. "Alright, talk to you later. Linoge signing off."   
  
Since Linoge had already redirected his movements throughout the ship towards his corridor, at this point, he merely floated along, observing the smooth workings of this complicated machine arrayed around him. Reaching the hatch into his living quarters, he punched in his access code, and the computer checked it against his biometric signature and proceeded to open the portal. Once back inside, Linoge "seated" himself on his work chair, loosely strapping himself in to alleviate the chances of him randomly floating off. It was just a few hours ago that he had been sitting here, trying to access his personal email system when he had first heard wind of this massive operation going on in system 26. For the past half-hour or so, with dealing with the wounded dronetech, he had almost forgotten about the operation until Filarn called and reminded him. Resting his head in his hands for a moment, Linoge took a slight break, garnering and ordering his thoughts before he called God's Forge to request the necessary replacement for the wounded dronetech. For the start of a new campaign, this was having a rather poorly auspicious start. One could always assume the bad luck for the operation was getting itself out of the way early in the mission, but this was probably not the case, unfortunately. Rubbing his hands back over his head, his right hand reached out and tapped in the code for the personnel office onboard God's Forge.   
  
"Lieutenant Grimmel, Personnel Distribution, God's Forge, Manchari system. How may I help you?"  
  
"Lieutenant, one of my dronetechs here onboard the FND Bellapheron was wounded earlier today. He lost the lower portion of his right leg, and I am going to need a replacement in the next two hours. I am sincerely hoping that you will have someone who can at least partially meet with my requirements on-station."   
  
LT Grimmel turned to his computer console, and rapidly started typing in the necessary data and requirements to find the crewman for which Linoge was searching. After typing in a few more commands, Grimmel's eyes grew momentarily wide, and he continued punching away at his console. Turning back to his communications system, Grimmel said, "Captain Linoge, we have four dronetechs currently on-station not already attached to ships. I am transferring you their data now."   
  
Linoge raised a proverbial eyebrow at this sudden and rapid response from the personnel department. Generally, requests sent through the standard lines of this particular Federation department took weeks to be fulfilled. This swift turn-around was just another surprising indication of the importance of the mission Linoge was about to be embarking upon. Glancing over the scrolling data that had popped up on a subsidiary screen, Linoge found an appropriate personnel file and the accordingly appropriate dronetech to replace his wounded one. Turning back to his communications screen, Linoge requested the appropriate crewman be assigned to the Bellapheron.   
  
"Aye sir. He should be on-ship within the next hour. Personnel distribution out."   
  
Still surprised at the remarkable speed with which he received this new crewman, Linoge accessed the information on the rest of his Task Force, refreshing himself on the relevant information concerning the subsidiary ships he would be commanding. When one is commanding eighteen separate vessels, under most probably soon-to-be combat situations, it is the best to know as much as one can about the crews of the ships, their commanders, their capabilities, and their limitations. Linoge was quite familiar with all of the commanders onboard his various ships, and liked to consider himself to be their friends, as well as them his friends. However, he liked checking up on them from time to time, and rapidly scanned through the records of their past missions and their tactics used. Additionally, he scanned through the loadouts of the ships, ensuring that nothing had changed after the last time he looked at them. Ensuring that nothing major had changed in any department, Linoge turned now to his own ship once again. He checked through his crew rapidly, making sure everyone was up to speed and fully online. Then he performed the same check for the sections and systems onboard the Bellapheron. With less than two hours before he casts off form God's Forge, Linoge had to make absolutely certain that all stores were replenished, all weapons were fully loaded, all atmospherics were functional and operating at peak efficiency, all drives were cleaned and functional, and all reactors were warming up and charging. While technology has improved considerably in the past few hundred years, and automated systems took the majority of the brunt of the "grunt-work" in keeping a ship functional, it is still preferable to have some nature of organic somewhere in the decision chain, especially considering that ships are still crewed by organics, and machines sometimes forget this fact.   
  
Leaning back in his chair and raising a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn, Linoge glanced at his chronometer, and realized that there was almost an hour before the Bellapheron was due to boost from God's Forge. Unbuckling himself from his seat, he drifted up and straightened his shipsuit before heading to the hatch of his room, and, eventually, the bridge. It was going to be a long day.   
  
Almost an hour later, the bridge of the Bellapheron was a scene of organized chaos. The ship was within 15 minutes of casting off from God's Forge, and all the final preparations were almost complete. While harbor pilots were no longer necessary in this time and space, all of the appropriate navigation subroutines had to be checked and rechecked, the ship's comprehensive and pervasive AI network had to run its own diagnostics and system checkups, and all the various organics spread throughout the ship had to ensure that they were at their appropriate stations. Needless to say, the actual launching procedure for a starship was rather complicated, and occasionally a very delicate procedure.   
  
God's Forge, itself, was a massive array of three basically separate structures – the actual God's Forge moon orbiting the planet of Manchari, the Federation Navy headquarters and shipyard at the Lagrange Point thirty degrees ahead of the moon, and Promenade Station, the military/civilian hybrid station at the Lagrange Point thirty degrees behind the moon. Linoge, through his ties with the Federation Navy, however, was in the habit of referring to each of the individual segments as "God's Forge", as he considers them all the same entity, regardless of their separation or other distinctions. Promenade Station, where the Bellapheron was currently docked, was a massive station. Its overall structure was that of an enormous sphere, 15 kilometers in diameter. The center of this sphere was hollowed out, leaving a 10 kilometer diameter docking space for the various ships of the Federation Navy, as well as any private ships and vessels that wished to dock at God's Forge and that received appropriate clearance from the docking authorities. This inner area was connected to the outer void of space by a 2.5-kilometer long, one-kilometer diameter tunnel, sealed with massive blast doors at both its inner and outer termini. The external surface of Promenade Station was a continuous, essentially seamless matte black of high-density titanium alloy sheathing, with all of the station's inordinate weapons systems sealed beneath access panels and hatches until it is needed. The tunnel connecting the docking area was also armored, though less so, as the weapons systems and the like within it are actually exposed. In addition to those turrets, there were a myriad of sensors, minor docking areas, access ports, and other miscellaneous systems lining the tunnel. Finally, once one was past the inner blast ports, things get interesting. The entire inner surface of Promenade Station was lined with docking ports, ranging from the massive 100 meter diameter ports for heavy haulers, to tiny little one centimeter ports for support droids and nanotechs. Various support structures were built into the inner surface over time, giving a very irregular and disjointed impression. With over 300 square kilometers of surface upon which to build, space is not exactly at an absolute premium. However, the entire inner surface of the station worked like a well-greased machine, as this was a subsidiary heart of the Federation Navy. Everything is directed from the central "stalactite" hanging from the chamber's "ceiling", which housed the port authority, as well as the local law enforcement sections. The actual body of the station is divided into civilian and military segments, with all of the support structures and systems one would expect for a space station of its size and magnitude – powerplants, atmosphere generators, gravity generators, materials processors, and other such systems.   
  
Due to this structure, leaving Promenade Station is not exactly a difficult flight, but instead it is the massive amount of traffic the station enjoys that creates most of the problems. Flight paths must be registered with the port authority days ahead of time, and must be followed to the third decimal place, as the spaces separating ships while in motion can sometimes be as little as a few meters. For this reason, Navigator Brramchase jacked into his console half an hour ago in order to clear the final flight plans with the port authority, and to prepare for the actual flight. While the Bellapheron is a 500-meter long destroyer, she still technically only requires a single pilot. The entire complement of the bridge crew does support this single individual, and those other individuals handle all of the weapons, sensors, communications, engineering, and other matters, but just a single individual does the actual "flying". This feat is accomplished by the set of five neural interface nodes hardwired into Brramchase's cranium. When he sat into his crash couch, the ship lowered the neural interface system over his head and made contact with the nodes. The next few moments were rather hard to describe, and one could only imagine what actually took place. People have attempted to directly ask Navigators what exactly happens, but they were rather recalcitrant and not very forthcoming with explanation. Regardless, the ship… "shuddered" for a few moments, almost as if the organic intelligence and the artificial intelligence were fighting it out as to who had control of the ship. No one, not even the AI programmers, really knew if this was what happened, but it felt that way up on the bridge of the Bellapheron, as with all other ships that use this system. Once the actual interface is complete, however, Brramchase and all other navigators all had complete control over the navigation systems of the Seraphim-class destroyers – they saw with the sensors of the ship, the ship's fusion torches were their legs, and space was their playground. Linoge understood that the entire experience was quite amazing, but he would never experience it personally. His place is behind the massive array of liquid crystal and holographic displays, placed immediately behind the Navigator's crash couch.   
  
From here, Linoge can overlook the entire bridge, from the Navigator's station, to the weapons grid, to the engineering alcove, to the comm/sensor position. The entire bridge is actually a surprisingly comfortable room, considering the fact that it is the bridge of a warship bent upon the destruction of other ships. However, the designers of such ships realized that people could be spending upwards of a day in this room alone, and thus it must at least attempt to cater to basic creature comforts. Linoge, at this moment, was not taking advantage of the chair behind where he was standing, but, as soon as the ship actually lit off, he would be forced to due to the acceleration forces involved.   
  
Glancing around the bridge, Linoge was comfortable in the fact that all of the men and women beneath his command were performing exemplarily. Gazing at the array of displays before him, he was also comfortable in the fact that his ship was performing at or beyond specs. Constant upkeep from the onboard repair and support systems, as well as yearly overhauls at the military portion of God's Forge ensured smooth running of almost all systems. Linoge took a moment to stroll over to the weapons console to overlook the efforts of the Gunners' Mates sitting there. While he is the captain of the entire ship, from the drives in the aft to the sensor nodes in the front, this was, in fact, a warship, primarily centered on its rather copious weapons systems. Add to this Linoge's inherent morbid curiosity with these systems, and it is understandable that he occasionally enjoyed checking up on them. Indeed, Linoge often took time alone to read in the torpedo rooms, or floating over the massive capacitors that fed the ship's beam cannon turrets. One must always remind one's self that, while flying through the oft-uncharted depths of space, the mission of the Federation Navy was one of combat – a combat to ensure peace, indeed, but still combat.   
  
Hearing a chime from his communication earpiece, followed by, "Commanding Officer, Navigator."   
  
"CO here. Shoot."   
  
"Captain, the Bellapheron is cleared for departure in thirty seconds. Requesting permission to ready the ship for space, sound the acceleration alarm, bring the fusion torches online, and proceed out of Promenade Station." The voice of Brramchase took a while to get used to, as it was not his actual, organic voice, but rather a computer-synthesized voice extracted directly from the thoughts supposedly encased within his mind.   
  
"Permission granted. Proceed as scheduled." Linoge had already checked the flight plan of the Bellapheron repeatedly, and knew this was simply a standard transit.   
  
"Aye, sir." At this, a rather annoying wail echoed through the corridors of the ship, followed with the ship's male voice stating, "Prepare the Bellapheron for space. I repeat, ready the Bellapheron for space. Set condition Gamma throughout the ship. Acceleration in 20 seconds. Please secure yourself accordingly." Linoge floated back to the seat mounted behind his massive console, strapped himself in, and awaited that ever-so-interesting sensation of feeling one's direction of gravity change every few seconds.   
  
The actual process of undocking from the Promenade Station was rather complicated, but automated systems and long years of practice made it fly by in the matter of moments. First, the atmosphere transfer hoses and power couplings had to be disengaged from their connectors on the hull of the Bellapheron and retracted back into the station. These hoses and connectors allow the crew of the Bellapheron to shut down, or at least partially disengage, the ship's atmosphere processors, as well as slightly power down the primary reactors. No ship would ever be completely dependent upon the station to which it was docked, unless it was undergoing serious overhauls, simply from the concern that it would take far too long to get the ship operational and spaceworthy again. However, there is nothing wrong with taking a little strain off the onboard systems. Once those hoses and cables are snaked back into the curved inner shell of the station, the actual airlock tube ensures it is clear of all organic presences, seals itself off at both ends, disengages from the Bellapheron, and collapses back to its holding clamps on the station. The actual structure of the airlock connection tube is a remarkably thin polymer substance, reinforced with carbonfiber whisker-beams. The polymer substance is, of course, airtight, and can withstand a fair amount of force, while still being collapsible to a very small volume. The carbonfiber whisker-beams are equally small and resilient, while still being only a scant few millimeters in diameter. The Bellapheron only has one pressurized connection to the Promenade Station, and through this connection passes all of the crew and some smaller cargo units. However, there is a larger cargo airlock located elsewhere on the hull that handles large item transfers, due to the reasoning that it is easier to handle such objects in weightless vacuum without the threat of puncturing an air-tube with unsuited organics within. Finally, a variety of carbonfiber anchor cables disengage their electromagnetic clamps to the hull of the Bellapheron, and snake back into their holding facilities as well. These cables, having attached to the Bellapheron from a variety of different locations and angles, securely locked the ship at a set distance from the internal hull of the docking chamber, and prevented it from drifting or changing location. To prevent ships from running into these almost unbelievably thin cables, they are brightly colored, and always illuminated from their holding facilities.   
  
With this last event, the Bellapheron is, finally, free-floating within the confines of the docking chamber of the Promenade Station. At this point, she is completely under her own power, completely operating off of her own systems, and completely under the control of the neurally-linked Kitaran reclining a few meters in front of Linoge. After checking in with the navigation authorities encased within the stalactite structure hanging from the "ceiling" of the docking sphere, Brramchase engaged the Bellapheron's reaction thrusters, and pushed the ship away from the skin of the station. While the Federation Navy is aware of gravitic drives, and has been experimenting with them for quite some time, they have still been unable to miniaturize the system sufficiently, nor have they been able to reduce its power requirements enough for it to be effectively mounted within a warship of the line. As such, Naval ships still rely upon reaction drives, such as chemical thrusters, ion jets, plasma arcs, and fusion torches. The primary drawback of such propulsion systems is that, without the inclusion of an inertial dampening system (which are also rather large, and energy demanding, and are generally only installed in passenger liners or ships carrying force-sensitive cargo), for every force imparted by a reaction drive, that force must eventually be canceled. In the void of space, there is no atmospheric friction, gravity, or nearly any other form of entropy to steal the energy of a drifting ship. In accordance with the laws of physics then, once the Bellapheron was sufficiently far way from the concave wall of the docking chamber for maneuvers, Brramchase applied a perfectly equal and opposite burst of thrust from the array of microthrusters arranged on the skin of the ship.   
  
Then came the momentary pause as the fusion torches were checked over one last time. Considering the amount of energy that would be channeled from the small, contained stars that functioned as the ship's powerplants to the energy arrays within the fusion torches, this final check was a wise precaution. There have been many instances throughout the history of space travel where the fusion torches were not adequately checked before ignition, and promptly went critical, destroying the ship and all within her. However, the check went through without a problem, and the primary drives of the Bellapheron started pushing her away from her docking berth.   
  
With the advent of neural interface control systems, the bridge of modern military vessels are no longer scenes of orders being thrown back and forth between different individuals stationed throughout the room. Now, the Navigator of the ship interfaces directly with the drive systems, powerplants, thrusters, and all pertinent systems such that he can better control the vessel without the time-lag that arises when the orders must be repeated from person to person, and then back again. Now, there is no more need for a true Officer of the Deck, at least for such purely-navigational situations. In actual wartime situations, such officers are often used such that the Captain can be elsewhere. However, in this instance, the entire control of the ship rested in the hands, or more appropriately, the head, of Brramchase.   
  
The fusion torches propelling the Bellapheron were only set at a remarkably low power for this evolution. As various conflicts and battles have shown, a reaction drive is as an effective a weapon as it is a propulsion system, considering the volume of superheated, supercharged gases they can expel on full thrust. Since Linoge did not particularly desire to destroy the Promenade Station, the primary drives of the Bellapheron were only engaged at a scant few percentage points of their full thrust capacity, barely pressing the crew back into their respective crash couches. Using the careful balancing of thrust from each of the exhaust ports of the drives, as well as the array of reaction thrusters arranged over the skin of the Bellapheron, Brramchase brought the ship from its berthing point, around the "stalactite" of the central control node, and towards the access tunnel connecting the docking area to the outside space. Taking a moment to adequately bring the inertia of the ship back under full control, the Navigator nudged the ship up into the traffic pattern of out-bound vessels, and matched speed as required by the passage. While the definitions of "up" and "down" are meaningless in space, for the ease of navigation and communication, the plane of the galactic ecliptic was defined as the horizontal plane, with the center of the galaxy providing a useful navigation aide from which any location could be referenced. However, also using this definition of "horizontal", the two side-by-side lanes of the access tunnel were defined as the out-bound traffic lanes, while the two vertical lanes of the Promenade Station's tunnel were defined as the in-bound traffic lanes. As such, the Bellapheron slid into the starboard-side out-bound lane, and cruised towards the final portal into space. This was perhaps the most "dangerous" portion of the passage, in that the massive destroyer was cruising within a few tens of meters of hundreds of other ships, some pointed the same direction, some pointed the exact opposite direction. Any mistake or miscalculation at this point would be disastrous, undoubtably damaging or destroying the ship involved, as well as possibly countless others. However, not only was Brramchase quite familiar with this passage, but so was the Bellapheron's main computer, as was the port authorities of the station itself – it has been quite some time since any accident of any appreciable size occurred within the transit tunnel.   
  
Regardless, the Bellapheron cruised on, its fusion torches once again disengaged so as to not provide any acceleration to the ship – the speed within the transit tunnel was carefully set, and any deviation from that speed would bring the port authorities down on Brramchase like a proverbial ton of Zalluns. As such, the interior of the ship was, once again, completely weightless, and Linoge enjoyed the sensation of barely floating back and forth, still confined by the straps of his seat. However, that sensation was soon to be marred by the flashing red and yellow lights that suddenly erupted around them, the lights themselves mounted upon the interior of the tunnel. The Bellapheron was a scant few hundred meters from the final access into space, and it would appear that Promenade Station was, amazingly enough, under attack.   
  
Or at least that is what the computer systems onboard the Promenade Station had decided. The plethora of flashing lights around the Bellapheron inside the access tunnel indicated that, not only was the station under attack, but the access tunnel was about be sealed off at both ends to prevent any hostile forces from entering the station, as well as prevent any random rounds from finding their way into the docking section. Needless to say, with the Bellapheron only a few hundred meters away from the exit portal of the tunnel, Linoge did not particularly want to be bottled up within this cylinder of metal while the battle was raging outside. As soon as the alarms started going off within the station, however, the Combat Data Sharing Network (CDSN) came alive on Linoge's console as all of the Federation Navy computers within range started sharing information with one another. Linoge was eyeing this information as he pressed the keypad that would immediately place a call into the port authorities.   
  
As soon as the chime sounded for him to proceed, he stated, "This is Captain Linoge aboard the Bellapheron. We are currently three hundred meters away from the external access port of the docking tunnel, and request to be cleared through the port before it is locked down."   
  
After a few moments pause on the line, the individual on the other end responded with, "Request granted, but make it fast," and signed off before Linoge could respond.   
  
Shrugging slightly, Linoge paged the Navigator reclined before him with, "Navigator, CO."   
  
"Navigator aye."   
  
"Make best speed for exiting the transit tunnel. I want us out there, and I want us out there now."   
  
"Aye, sir."   
  
The fusion torches mounted on the aft section of the Bellapheron increased their output considerably, though still restrained by the station limitations – reducing the ship behind you into a smoldering, melted pile of metal is universally considered a bad thing. However, the Bellapheron made it out into "free" space just as the blast doors sealing off the end of the access tunnel started to do so. Throughout this entire evolution, Linoge was still examining the plethora of data that was pouring in through the CDSN system.   
  
Frowning at the two-dimensional limitations of the liquid crystal displays mounted before him, Linoge turned and activated one of the holotanks mounted beside the CO's console. At once, the complex interweavings of light beams leapt into existence, first portraying nothing more than background static, but very shortly coalescing into an understandable and readable network of three-dimensional data. Since the Manchari system basically belongs to the Federation Navy, it is mined with a wide variety of scout drones, deep space sensor nets, listening posts, and even simple laser tripwires mounted between different celestial bodies. One of these outlying sensor systems detected the subspace shockwave created by a ship, or, in this case, multiple ships, using the system's jump node, and activated one of the close-in monitoring systems orbiting near the node. The data being transferred seemed to indicate upwards of fifty ships were jumping into the Manchari system, all of them bearing the Identify Friend or Foe (IFF) signal of the Crimson Pirates. Never before had Linoge ever heard of such a concentration of Crimson Pirate ships, much less in a system all but controlled by the Federation Navy. However, upon closer examination of the situation at hand, Linoge started to question the lock-down attitude imposed by the Promenade Station, as well as the rest of the in-system Federation ships, judging from the current message traffic. Analyzing the Crimson Pirate's flight patterns, as well as their overall flight direction, Linoge was forced to assume that the ships were not at all heading towards any of the military targets within the Manchari system, nor were they preparing for any offensive assaults. Indeed, from the patterns and formations used by the pirate ships, it would almost appear that they were in a completely defensive position.   
  
"Navigator, CO."   
  
"Navigator aye."   
  
"Plot and execute a course that will take us towards the Crimson Pirate fleet. Keep our speed controllable and below around .33c."   
  
"Aye sir. Course laid in and executed."   
  
Linoge was once again pressed back into his command chair by the forces imparted by the fusion torches as Brramchase brought the ship about to pursue its course. It would appear that Brramchase was intending on using the gravity well of Manchari itself to further them on their course, as well as conserve fuel. A quick dip into the gravity well of the gas giant around which God's Forge orbited would increase the ship's overall speed, at a much lower cost to their fuel reserves than if they had attempted to acquire the same speed through the use of the fusion torches. While the fuel capacity of the Bellapheron was considerable, to say the least, one may as well use the laws of the universe to one's advantage, when such opportunities present themselves.   
  
Regardless, Linoge was quite content in the skills of his Navigator, and instead turned his attention to the bright, flashing light on his console which indicated an incoming communication. The light had illuminated shortly after the execution of Linoge's commands, and he almost already knew who and what it was before he even pressed the button to receive it.   
  
"Captain Linoge, what, exactly, do you think you are doing with my ship?"  
  
Linoge cringed slightly, knowing that this communication was only audio and not visual, when the voice of Fleet Admiral Xelarn came over the communication waves. The Zallun was known for his conservative take upon all matters military, especially when it came to the infamous Crimson Pirates. The man had almost made it his personal crusade to hunt them down and completely exterminate them from the galaxy. Needless to say, his dreams had never quite come to pass, a shortcoming which has always plagued him.   
  
"Sir, it is my intention to bring my ship within visual communications range of the fleet currently traversing the Manchari system."   
  
There was a pause on the communication line, although this one was assuredly not pregnant, to be ended with a shattering, "WHAT?"   
  
Linoge fully expected the outburst, but the volume of it surprised even him. Admiral Xelarn was known for being one of the "old skool" admirals, belonging to a much more conservative, reserved, and "controlled" segment of the military than Captain Linoge, and they had often butt heads in the past. This time, however, Linoge was quite sure, would be far more entertaining than the last ones.   
  
"You are going to close to within visual communications distance, and thus weapons range, for what purpose, exactly?" It was obvious that Admiral Xelarn was trying his best to keep his renown temper under control… the purplish hue forming on his headrest was evidence enough of that.   
  
"If the Fleet Admiral would be so kind as to examine his tactical display interface, a few interesting points of this enemy fleet may become apparent." Linoge was walking on remarkably thin ice, and knew it all the way to his four toes. Falling back on military courtesies and formalities, he desperately attempted to plead his case, all the while his ship hurtling towards its destination. "First, Fleet Admiral, the enemy fleet emerged from the jump node in what could be considered to be a defensive position – the offensive battleships, destroyers, and cruisers were all screened behind drones, frigates, and corvettes. Second, the flight path of the enemy fleet does not show any indication of intersecting with any of the military or civilian targets within the Manchari system, but instead appears to be directed towards the Sewell jump node. Third, and possibly most importantly, sir, is that the incoming fleet issued no challenge to any of the defending ships within the Manchari system. It is the standard operating procedure of the Crimson Pirates to notify their targets of their impending attack… it would appear the Pirates enjoy a little competition, sir. All of this data lead me to believe that the Pirate fleet was not so much attacking something, but possibly … well … fleeing something." The very idea was preposterous, and Linoge knew it. The Crimson Pirates were, perhaps, the most fearsome, feared organization still operating within the confines of this galaxy, despite the best efforts of both the Border Patrol and the Federation Navy proper. Past experience had shown that this organization of cutthroats and villains feared nothing, and would not hesitate to go into a battle of disproportionate odds, oftentimes especially when those odds were disproportionate against them. Even more disturbing was the results of those attacks – only one Crimson Pirate raid was ever repulsed, and that was only due to the unusual presence of not only one, but three Taenarian vessels at the port in question.   
  
About this time, a flimsy was placed before Admiral Xelarn, and he held it, reading it, the purplish hue on his headrest starting to fade slightly. "Well, Captain, it appears the think tanks in Fleet Intel agree with your estimation of the situation. As for whether I should congratulate you for taking initiative in this situation, or have you up on a review board for disobeying your standing orders… that is a matter left to another time. Since you are already in transit towards the Crimson Pirate fleet, you are hereby ordered to continue your plan, with the full support of the Navy behind you. However, you are not, and I repeat, you are not authorized to engage the fleet unless fired upon first. You are going out there solo, Linoge, and while we are routing ships to support you, they will not be available for a good ten minutes after you arrive. Tread lightly."   
  
"Aye, aye sir. Understood. Our current course will take us on a path tangential to the Crimson Pirate fleet, and we will only be within weapons range for approximately thirty minutes, which can be drastically shortened if need be. However, I intend on broadcasting my intentions on all available frequencies long before we actually intercept."   
  
"Very well. You and I will discuss this chain of events once you return from your assignment, Captain Linoge. Fleet Command out."   
  
With that, the line went dead. Linoge held his breath a moment longer, and then let it out in a long, drawn-out hiss, while reaching up to brush the sweat off the back of his neck. That could have gone remarkably better, but Linoge realized just how well he had gotten off after all. Taking a moment, mostly for himself, he looked over the condition of his ship, from stem to stern, before pressing down a different communications stud to prepare the Bellapheron for the upcoming… event, for lack of a better term.   
  
"Communications, CO."   
  
"Communications, aye."   
  
"I want you to broadcast the following message over all frequencies, amplitudes, channels, and subnets."   
  
"Aye sir. Standing by to record."   
  
"This is Captain Linoge of the Federation Navy warship Bellapheron to the Crimson Pirate fleet currently traversing Manchari space. We are closing on your position, and will intercept you and your course in the next forty-five standard minutes. All of our weapons systems are currently powered down and offline, I repeat, the Bellapheron is in a non-wartime state, with only shields energized. I mean only to open a dialogue between us in order to better understand your actions. We will be within visual communications range in approximately thirty standard minutes. I would like to talk with the commanding officer of your fleet, if possible, at that time. Set that to retransmit every minute, and notify me if there is any response."   
  
"Aye sir. Communications out."   
  
Now that the proverbial white flag of truce had been raised, Linoge turned his attention to preparing his ship for the possibility of combat, even though he was devoutly hoping no such event would transpire.   
  
"Tactical Action Officer, CO."   
  
"TAO aye."   
  
"Bring the defensive shields up to full power, but do not activate any targeting sensors, weapons grids, weapons power plants, capacitors, loading mechanisms, or anything weapons-related. I want the ship in full peace-time settings, with the shields up, of course. However, have it set that we can go from cold to blazing in as short a time as possible. I certainly hope this situation will not deteriorate, but considering what we are dealing with, you never know."   
  
"Aye sir. P'mission to speak freely sahr?"  
  
Raising a hairless eyebrow at the communications grille, Linoge said, "When have you ever had to ask for that, Quinton?" Linoge and his TAO had a long and friendly relationship throughout their careers in the Federation Navy, possibly because they were both out of place – Linoge a Wraith captain of a Federation Task Force, and Quinton a Derivian gunner's mate-turned-officer. Since Linoge had been assigned to the Bellapheron, and requested Quinton as his TAO, he had often relied upon the advice given by the plucky, rather over-built Derivian.   
  
"Weeell, sahr… D'y'really think it such a hot idea to go chargin' down the throat of the Crimson Pirates without s'much as a cyclone up and spinning?"   
  
"Trust me, I do not like it any more than you, but it is the only way to convince them our intentions are peaceful… would you be likely to believe someone just wanted to talk if he came at you with all weapons at the ready?"   
  
"I suppose not, sahr. I'd just like something at the ready, if the need be."   
  
"Alright, well, here. Can you load up the launch tubes with conventional-only Harpoon missiles, and have it be completely hidden from sensor scans?"   
  
"Well, if we're to use conventionals, and load 'em up before we got in sensor range of the Crimsons, yes sahr, I think we could manage. A penetratin' scan would reveal the warheads, but naught much else."   
  
"Very well, make it so. Just make bloody sure that no one will be the wiser."   
  
"Aye, sahr. TAO out."   
  
Linoge did not particularly like the idea of lying to the Crimson Pirates, questionable though their honor may be, but Quinton was right – it certainly did make him feel a little better to have at least something up his sleeve if the situation were to go all to hell and back. With that, Linoge had one last thing to take care of. Pressing the pad for the 1MC, he said, "All hands, this is the Captain speaking. We are currently headed towards intercepting the Crimson Pirate fleet that has entered Manchari space. However, we are not, repeat, we are not cleared to engage them. Rather, we are pursuing this course of action to better understand what it is they are doing. The Crimson Pirates generally operate from the 26k system, and this … exodus … must be for a reason. As such, I want everyone at their action stations; however, this is not a General Quarters. If GQ is sounded, we will then be in a shooting battle, and you will be cleared to act accordingly, but not until then. Captain out."   
  
Linoge settled into the Captain's seat secured behind his console, now that everything appeared to be in order. In less than half an hour now, he would either be talking, displayed face to displayed face, to the leading officer of the Crimson Pirates, or one of his lackeys… or he would be exchanging energy volleys with the same. For what appeared to be such a simple day, it sure had fallen apart.   
  
Needless to say, no one had really ever striven to create a dialogue with the Crimson Pirates before, excepting the pleas for mercy and surrender. The Pirates generally killed first and stole later, operating under the rather valid assumption that dead bodies are easier to relieve of their worldly possessions. Their prey generally consisted of private traders, resourcers, and smaller vessels, though the Crimson Pirates were known, on occasion, to band together and raid one of the smaller ports within their sphere of influence, oftentimes just for the … "entertainment" … of doing so. Mainly relying upon EMP weapons and precision-targeted beam cannons, their standard battleplan generally consisted of jumping into a known trade route, waiting for a juicy target to come in-sector, decloaking, and completely railing the unsuspecting ship with EMP volleys and meticulous blasts to drives, shields, and weapons. Generally, the body of the ship was kept intact, if only for the safety of the cargo inside, though the Pirates were known for taking the target vessel into tow and selling it at a nearby port. Once the target ship has been disabled, be it through EMP damage or through the destruction of its drive systems, the boarding party is dispatched from the Pirate ships, either on assault shuttles or dedicated breeching pods. These parties are generally armored in "Heracles"-class exoskeletons, and generally make short work of the crew onboard the now-helpless vessels using diamond-edged vibraswords, flechette pistols, and neural scramblers. Once the boarding party has removed the onboard resistance, the target ships are offloaded into Pirate freighters, and the ships are left to drift, completely destroyed by a charge strapped to their fusion cores, or towed back to be sold.   
  
Throughout this entire operation, the only communication from the Crimson Pirates was their initial challenge to the target ships. After that, the crew of the ship is left to plead against dead air. Thus, Linoge was somewhat concerned about how this supposed meeting was going to progress. No one had ever actually spoken to a member of the Crimson Pirates, much less spoken about why they appeared to be running from their old haunts. As can be seen by the impressive fleet moving through Manchari now on a low-power orbital arc, composed of everything ranging from singleship interceptors to massive, siege-engine battleships, the Crimson Pirates were more than capable of holding their own over any single point in space, if not tens of points. Indeed, though the Federation Navy had made it one of their goals to wipe out the Crimson Pirates from the "coreward" systems of the galaxy, they were never able to make much in the way of headway in that operation. With a combination of guerrilla tactics, terrorist strikes, and sheer firepower, numbers, and equipment, along with the fact that no commanding Admiral at Fleet Command would ever commit the necessary number of ships, the Crimson Pirates were able to repeatedly beat back the Federation Navy from sector 26, oftentimes all the way back to Manchari itself. However, never before had the Crimson Pirates ventured into the "spillward" systems in any great numbers. They left that to their lesser brethren, the Rim Pirates. Regardless, Linoge had absolutely no idea how the upcoming conversation with the Crimson Pirate commander would go. He did not even have any clue what race was predominant among the pirates. As he was glancing over the data files the Navy had been able to put together about the Crimson Pirates, he noted that no Pirate vessel had ever been captured with its crew onboard, and, if such an event were to take place, the ship automatically self-destructed, preferably with the Navy recovery ship already attached and thus destroyed in the explosion as well.   
  
This revelation did not exactly enamor Linoge of speaking with these individuals, but, considering their history, he was already not particularly looking forward to the conversation. Though he had received the same diplomacy training all other Federation Navy captains were required to take, those classes did not exactly prepare one for speaking with the head of an organization bent upon the murdering and theft of just about any other sentient group. Linoge glanced at the updated display concerning the Crimson Pirate fleet, and it only served to worsen his mood. The fleet, in its entirety, was composed of approximately fifty frigate-class vessels, twenty interceptor-class vessels, thirty corvette-class vessels, twenty-five cruiser-class vessels, fifteen ranger-class vessels, ten destroyer-class vessels, ten carrier-class vessels, and two battleship-class vessels. That fleet, in and of itself, was roughly equivalent to five Federation Navy task forces… and here Linoge was, charging it down in his single destroyer. However, something was gnawing at the back of Linoge's mind. Sliding forward slightly in his command chair, he activated another terminal at his console, and started going through the reports of Crimson Pirate ship movements. Even though the Federation Navy had never been able to maintain a ship presence very far into the "coreward" systems, they had been able to seed the area with watcheyes, a specialized form of cloaked scout drones. From the observations made by these watcheyes, and accounting for the average speed of each ship class, the Federation Navy had been able to create what they considered to be an accurate ship count for the Crimson Pirates. Checking over the numbers himself, Linoge was forced to agree with their estimation of the situation – not that it was likely he would catch any nature of error, he just liked checking things himself, especially in times like these. However, those numbers provided Linoge with a rather… disturbing realization. Even though the Crimson Pirate fleet appeared massive as it slid through Manchari space, it was only around a half to a third of the Pirates' full strength as of a week ago. Fleet Command always knew that if the Crimson Pirates ever got it into their minds to make an assault on the central portion of the galaxy, they would be remarkably difficult to repulse, considering that their fleet numbers were approximately half to a quarter, depending on the times, that of the Federation Navy. However, this group of ships was nowhere near the complete arsenal of the Pirates.   
  
This raised an interesting question, namely, where was the rest of the Crimson Pirate fleet? The jump node into Manchari was the only such node from the "coreward" systems into the "spillward" systems, and, with the number of Federation scout ships and drones in Manchari, no ship, regardless of its cloaking technology (excepting the Taenarians, of course), could sneak through. Thus, the rest of the Pirate fleet must still be out in "coreward" section of the galaxy. But then why would a portion of the fleet appear to be on a seeming exodus, while the rest of the fleet remained behind…? Linoge brought up the emergency broadcast that had first started this day down its strange slope, and studied the reports and images again. Though the primary base of the Crimson Pirates had never actually been discovered, it was always believed to exist somewhere in system 26. If there had been a serious enough incident within that system such that Fleet Command had quarantined it… Linoge was not a slow individual, by any stretch of the imagination, but this revelation took a considerable amount of time to sink in through the layers of his mind. The Crimson Pirates fielded a fleet that would seriously ruin the day of the Federation Navy if it ever decided to. However, whatever was taking place within the confines of system 26 had destroyed over half of that fleet, and sent the rest of the fleet scurrying for shelter, even right past the noses of their enemies.   
  
Linoge leaned back in his chair with a faintly heard, "Frell…" This day had just gone from bad to worse. 


End file.
